As I Lay in Wait
by ithaswhatitisnt
Summary: Almost left to her own devices in a Fire Nation psychiatric hospital, Azula describes the squalor she now lives in. One-shot.


Avatar is kind of my life :D And I don't actually care for Azula, surprisingly. However, I began thinking about what may have happened to her after the season finale. There were so many ways this could have gone. Eventually, I thought it may have been best to portray her as we know her best: on top of everything and one step ahead of everyone.

Azula's patient number has no significance. I just picked five random numbers. And this is in Azula's POV. Just wanted to clarify.

I do not own Azula or any other characters mentioned from the series. Bryke owns the entire Avatar universe.

Please enjoy.

* * *

The guards never let us see the sun. We begin our day in darkness; we end our day in darkness. I do not even know what a day is anymore; I sleep and wake up according to the schedule the guards are given. I hate this, but there is no room for adjustments; prisoners, excuse me, _patients_ , are monitored here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, unable to think for ourselves or make amends as we see fit. This is treasonous that the daughter of the Phoenix King even defecates in a facility like this. I should be back at the Fire Palace, where I am rightfully Fire Lord and have a battalion of servants awaiting my beck and call. Prisoners… _patients_ …are drugged daily according to their "disabilities". I have been labeled "mentally unstable" and am forced to swallow tablets every day to correct this so-called problem. Earthbenders have been brought in as precautions, as have chi-blockers. First I get jabbed in no less than eight different pressure points, to ensure that my Firebending stays dormant, and then I am forced on my knees like some common animal. Earthbenders hold me in place with solid rock, and pills are forced down my unwilling throat. A Waterbender finishes the hat trick, bending a stream of lukewarm, gritty water down my throat to chase the tablets into my stomach. I gag and sputter, but they don't care. I am just the crazy Fire Lord who was placed here by the Avatar and his little band of friends, including my traitor of a brother.

"Time to wake up, 66528," the guard outside my door, Jiro, orders. His gruff voice, the tone of a fool who feels he has been blessed with boundless authority, does not impress me. I roll off my smelly cot, the cot that has no doubt been a dumping ground for countless other prisoners, and let the creaking alert him that I am indeed awake.

I have been placed in a solitary cell, excuse me, _room_ , because the alleged doctors here feel that I am too violent to have a roommate. Perhaps they are correct. Or, perhaps they are filthy, low-blood liars that deserve to be thrown into an immediate Agni Kai with me, whether they can Firebend or not! I will teach them the proper meaning of 'violent', the way it was meant to be taught.

A small metal slot is opened on my door, which is constructed of three-foot thick steel. I could not melt it even if I focused all my energy on it for hours. I have tried and failed. I am not a failure; rather, I have not found the correct way to succeed. The guard, Jiro, walks in with a pair of steel manacles at the ready. A blonde chi-blocker slithers in on the side of him, and she quickly jabs me in five different pressure points. That is enough to render me unable to bend. I growl at her, hoping to at least rattle her psyche, but she does not react. I look up at Jiro through my eyelids, through my curtain of matted, knotted, jet-black hair, and I can see revulsion in his beady eyes. He thinks he is better than I am because he is clean and has a stable job. I am nothing more than a sewer rat, a crazy one at that, to him. The handcuffs are placed around my wrists, and I shudder at the chafing. This is not an act. I despise the chafing, knowing that by allowing the metal to irritate my skin, I am allowing them to cut me down.

Jiro forces me to my feet, half-carrying, half-dragging me upright, and outside my room there are two Earthbenders waiting. They are the security guards for the security guard. Adorable.

Our small procession, Jiro and I in the front, and the stoic, silent Earthbenders behind us, makes its way to the refectory. Because I have been deemed a threat to the others, I am not permitted to eat with the other prisoners. I have to take my food back to my cell and be monitored by no less than four people. This is a routine I am forced to repeat three times a day. I despise the food here; it is not fit to be consumed by vulture-bees, let alone humans. The vegetables are rotten, the meat is gristly, and the bread is adorned with bright green, fuzzy mold. What little bit I can salvage from the meal, I try to swallow, but I do not eat the amount that the doctors here think I need to intake. I am stronger than this; I do not need to eat spoiled food, and I should most certainly not be forced to. I am a Fire Lord; I deserve far better.

Jiro and the Earthbenders move me into the line with the other prisoners. Some of these people are hardened murderers, men and women who attempted to slaughter their families, and yet they shy away from me. My reputation precedes me, even after all these days in hades, and the others are still not used to the fact that their Fire Lord resides with them. I shall permit them to have the benefit of the doubt; they are commoners, their minds are simple and slow. Time is a great friend to them, and in here, we have nothing but time.

The line to obtain prison fare is slow-moving but consistent, and Jiro is hissing under his breath about how he wishes I would hurry up, how the line would hurry up, why didn't he take that job in Ba Sing Se, how he'd rather be at home with his wife and children…the list of his woes goes on and yet, I do not care. I reach out tentatively to take a bowl of what looks like fruit in a cream glaze. It is one of the few items I have seen here that has not sprouted mold, so I place it on my tray. Moving along the line, I also take a small dinner roll, one of the few that is not blue with mold, and a cracked cupful of poorly-made, horrible-tasting oolong tea. I recall that it is one of Uncle's favorite varieties, but I do not put it back, nor do I recoil in disgust.

Jiro picks the tray up with one hand and keeps the other on my arm, to lead me back to my cell. The Earthbenders are right behind us, as they are every day. I do not know their names, so I have labeled them Lo and Lee, after my traitorous grandmothers. The Earthbenders _are_ traitors; once my father, the Phoenix King, comes to release me from this wretched place, they shall have their just reward: a death sentence, and I shall be the executioner!

The warden, excuse me, _head doctor_ , approaches our little procession.

"Good morning, Azula," he says. He does not use my formal title, nor does he bow in subservience. Imbicile. "You are going to have some visitors today. After breakfast, you will be taken to the baths, and you will be dressed in our finest donated clothing." Like I want to wear a flea-ridden robe that will no doubt be too small for me. But I do not argue. I simply nod. It is best to allow the doctors to think they have the upper hand. They do not. I am the puppetmistress. I say as little as possible, go about my business, ensure that I am kept away from the troublemakers, because when my father comes to release me, I want everyone to be unsuspecting and paralyzed with fear when I unleash my wrath upon them.

Jiro and the Earthbenders bow to the warden, and I glare at him, hoping the steel in my eyes will cut into his animus. If he realizes what I am doing, he shows no sign of cognizance. He merely walks away. No matter. I will deal with him when the time is right.

I am led back to my cell, and Jiro encourages me to eat with sickeningly feigned enthusiasm. I do not look at him but instead pretend that this garbage on the chipped plate in front of me is the most fascinating meal I have ever dined upon. Because he asks that I hurry and eat quickly, I consume the edible parts of the meal as slowly as my mind will allow me. My mind is screaming for more food – " _You cannot be the Fire Lord on such a low source of sustenance!"_ – but I ignore the small voice in my head. I know what is best for me, and this stupid guard is not going to be the one I listen to today.

I let my cutlery fall back onto the tray with an ear-rattling clatter, and it is cleared by a lower-ranked prisoner whose sole duty is to patrol the solitary area and collect soiled food trays. Such a sad existence. But I suppose it gives him a sense of meaning, like he _is_ actually worth something.

My entourage appears at the door again, ready to escort me to the bathing area. "Baths" is a polite way to describe the dung hole where the prisoners are forced to scrub themselves clean with little to no soap and cold water, using nothing but our hands. I rise, anticipating the familiar prods into my back and other pressure points. I am not disappointed; the same blonde chi-blocker from this morning glides in and performs her duty. I have been rendered numb and cannot bend. But I have no power, the way I used to before I was unjustly tossed in here; even if I could bend, I could produce no flames or lightning of significant power. Why bother, if nothing of fear-inducing power can be made?

I am led out of my cell toward the room where the frigid bath water waits for me. Once inside, I am stripped out of my crusty, dingy prison robe. Being naked in front of all these strangers does not intimidate me the way it used to; if anything, others are embarrassed to be nude in _my_ presence, as they should. They should be mortified to allow me to see them as filthy as they are.

I am placed in a shallow metal tub of lukewarm water. The four Waterbenders in charge of the bath area move closer and begin to rinse my jet-black hair over my eyes. A worn-down bar of coconut soap has been graciously provided for me, and I snatch it lest any of these filthy peasants think themselves worthy enough to share the same bar of soap as their Fire Lord. I scrub and grind, the dead skin flaking off and settling to the bottom of the tub. After a few moments, I am deemed clean, but I do not feel any more sanitary than when I stepped into this dung hole. Lo and Lee lift me out of the tub and a towel that is not near any standard of clean is thrown in my face. I dry off, and I am sealed into a solid rock harness, then Earthbent toward the 'dressing room'.

No precautions are being overlooked today, it seems. No sooner am I shoved forward into the dressing room than I am hit in my pressure points. The blonde does not let me off with just doing a few; no, she tackles my entire body, and I feel limp. I would be on the floor were it not for this rock harness I am encased in. A blood-red tattered-to-ribbons robe is draped over my body, and the medication hat-trick begins. I am shoved to my knees, my hands and feet bound to the floor, and the tablets are crammed into my unwilling mouth. The taciturn Waterbender takes his usual stance and I feel the stream flow past my lips to bring the tablets down into my stomach. I begin sputtering, but their facial expressions do not change. I did not expect them to. The pills take effect immediately, and I feel unbearably drowsy, the way the pills always make me feel, but these relentless fools will not let me go back to my cell and sleep off these useless drugs. Instead, I am forced to go to a "visiting area", as the area where family members can come and try to coax their loved ones back to the land of the sane. Roughly, I am pushed into a metal chair that once used to be silver but now is decorated in rust. The guards' voices outside float through the walls, and I cannot help wondering who is here to visit me. If my father the Phoenix King were to come, he would have made a ruckus; I would have been out of here by now. I know it is not my mother. Mai and Ty Lee are also treasonists; I have nothing more to say to them, even if they crawled in on their peasant knees and begged me for my forgiveness.

The door opens, and I do not look at who enters. I can tell by the cologne who it is. And a distinct perfume wafts from somewhere to the left of him. I have two visitors. This must be my lucky day.

"Azula," my two-timing brother says, obviously astonished to see me in this condition. I do not want to look at him. He has brought an unfathomable amount of shame on this family for who he has conspired with and what he has done.

"You could at least say hello to your brother," Mai snaps, and I look up at her. She is still the same unemotional Mai that was once my best friend, but there is something different about her. I cannot place my finger entirely on it, but there is something in the way she is standing behind Zuzu, something in the way she is clinging to his robe sleeve, like he will protect her should I decide to end her life right now this second for what she has done to me.

"Hello, Zuzu," I whisper, and he and Mai sit in front of me.

"I've talked with the head doctor, and he thinks you should be transferred to the Caldera, to live out the rest of your life in solitude," Zuko informs me. He looks away, not wanting to see what I have become. Or he is afraid. "I've almost got him convinced that you could come home."

"I live with him now," Mai chimes in. "It's actually pretty wonderful. There's so much to do. I'm usually never bored." I am just ecstatic that my old best friend has moved into my house and invaded everything I own. Ungrateful wretch. Zuzu never would have noticed her had it not been for my convenient intervention. Mai was nothing, and she is still nothing now. She is lucky to be breathing the same air as I am.

"Lovely," I mutter. Like I want to think about my ex-best friend looting through my closet, my bedroom, everything that I once held dear, and for what? She will never appreciate any of it; she will continue to be bored as she always has been. Silence reigns, and I can pick out the distinct rhythms of each of our heartbeats. Mine is slow, thanks to the drugs. Zuzu's is not exactly racing, but it is faster than it should be. Mai is in a state of near-stupor from not speaking, and her heart rate is slower than mine. If I acted quickly, I could end her now. But there is also a very faint, fourth heartbeat, weakly ebbing along in the silence. There are only three of us. A smile I know is wicked comes out, and I face Zuzu.

"Why are you here, Zuzu?" I purr, fake saccharine pouring out of my tone. I lace my fingers together as well as I can without agitating the bonds, and Zuzu leans back in his chair.

"I told you, I came to try to get you out. So you can come home," he says. I do not believe him. Zuzu has always been a terrible liar.

"Mai, why did you come? You are nothing to me," I say, watching her bland expression morph into one of almost livid anger.

"You really are crazy," Mai says, looking me right in the eyes. I can see I have wounded her more than she is willing to let on, but that is acceptable. I know how much I have injured her. She always wanted to be a person of worth, and I have taken that away from her. I gave her the worth she so desperately desired. Without me, she was, _is_ , nothing.

"Simple words, Mai," I sing-song, and I begin to cackle. There is nothing Mai or Zuzu can do that would ever change me. I am the way I am, and if others feel I need to be confined, then I say keep me far, far away from everyone else. Zuzu stands, keeping Mai behind him like he is a human shield, and he backs out of the room away from me. Before they shut the door behind them, I notice the way Mai keeps holding her stomach, and the grin I know is sadistic stretches across my face before I realize what I am doing.

"Run away, before I get your spawn!" I taunt, and a maniacal laugh rises from deep within my thin belly. Rage flashes on Zuzu's face, and he mouths something to the guards before the door is slammed shut behind them. My laugh continues, even as the guards enter slowly and surround me.

A pinprick gets me in the right arm, and the drowsiness instantly overwhelms me. They have given me a sedative; I have caused too much trouble from just one visit. I welcome the dead feeling coursing through my veins, and I slump over onto the table.

I did not make a mistake. I just opted to wait for a better opportunity. With that pinprick, my day is over.

Tomorrow, I will gain more information and wait for my chance to escape. If done right, I will ensure everyone involved in my imprisonment pays dearly.

* * *

I'll start with that seed in my former confidante's belly.


End file.
